Jaisalmer by Jonny White

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The bus from Pushkar to Jaisalmer was almost beyond mention - an over night 10 hour arduous slog that we had to our bad luck to endure in seats and not the private if ever desolate solitude of a sleeping compartment that we were at this stage used to... The bus - a worn out rust plagued old wreck that looked more like it should be in use as one for day trips of the criminally insane - field trip to the electro-therapy centre at the back of the valley, the foot of the hill of retribution - than to house Innocent people out for a good old Innocent time in the next city and just wanting to get there safely - was packed to bursting point with another new crowd of indigenous males - and us - stuck out in the open, tired and hungry and in dyer need of sleep or even just half-sleep were left like lambs to the wolves to battle the night through with the soft, threatening, yet totally safe, yet we're not totally sure or not, dark eyes of this mob of lecherous and not so lecherous alike, good old local blokes of India... But as always, we got there in the end and stepped off the brown bus of death and onto this day's dusty street and jumped into the jeep of the awaiting man of the guesthouse we'd booked into, with his idiotic one, two, three code of pointlessness - a code he'd given us over the phone the day before - some backwards attempt maybe to make us, the tourist, the traveller, the naive white man believe that we are part of some secret, underground, hot water, good-price guesthouse society for the privileged... The expectations were high in prayer, in hope, but the understanding through realisation by experience that sometimes hope just doesn't cut it in India lingered in the back of our minds like the idle children affront the sweet shop in the high street and our arrival to the guesthouse to which they'd given the name "Himalayan", situated inside the fort - the only remaining inhabited fort in India, with around two-thousand residents - an overwhelming monument on the desert horizon for the last XXXXXXX years - a dire little place with dingy, dark rooms and a small roof-top restaurant that to make up for it's unwelcoming feel, dank rooms and opium addicted staff was only 150 rupes a night - 75 each - a bargain worth paying for in comfort? At this stage we needed sleep that much that we didn't contest a thing and went into our little cell for a recuperating lock down...

Upon waking in the late afternoon we were soon to discover the sinister trap-tactics of our host's dubious business the hard way. We ordered some coffee and tea to our room as usual and then after receiving the metal tray of drinks, but before really having time to digest, never mind fully wake up, the little brown toothed weasel was at the door with the check in book inviting himself in for us to complete the rudimentary forms and passport checks and what not, and before we know it he's darted off like a cockroach under the fridge and is back with a pre-filled in receipt for a three day, two night camel trek for the day after next at 1000 rupes a day each with a total of six grand scribbled hurriedly at the bottom in bleeding blue ink - and the pen's in our hands and we're half-asleep a'signing away and a few thousand lighter - wasn't until we'd come to that we realised what had just happened and that we maybe should have waited for our friends - a few days ahead of us and already on a trek with the same place - and asked them how it was and whether it was worth the bulk financial grief that dedicating ourselves to this trip would inevitably cause to our pockets - but no - too late - just have to hope for the best... That evening we headed out to have a look at the government authorised "Bhang Shop" - Bhang being a legally grown and sold leaf that is mixed into drinks - mainly lassi - and is supposed to induce a light-hearted euphoria for the paying customer - God only knows what the government does with all that cash, probably use it to fund the massive army presence out in the desert near the Pakistani border. We found the place - a small box shop no bigger than a single car garage and lined with cushions and shelves and cupboards housing various books and pipes that were as it happened also for sale - and were pointed in by a man sat on a small wooden stool in front of the neighbouring shop and sat down. A few seconds latter a funny looking man with convincingly friendly eyes and welcoming smile, showing innocently child-like, protruding buck teeth that sat gaily under a comically classic Indian moustache - hair slicked over to the side in conceited effort to reflect the flamboyance of his jacket - a sight to be beheld - his wedding jacket he claimed, informed - bright pink and red and as bright as the desert stars. This was "Dr. Bhang" - "Full Power-24 hour no toilet no shower", as the t-shirts - also available for purchase - read... We drank our stagnant looking beverages - mine a "chocolate lassi", Emma's a "lemon tea", but both looked the same, both a stinking green colour, and both tasted equally of shit - and had a chat with the Dr. - who in reply to my question of where to find a nice silver ring - something that despite my normal dislike of jewelry, i had, through the sighting of many such rings on the stumpy brown fingers of many an Indian man, decided that i wanted as my one and only Indian souvenir - said that the next day he would take us on his bike to a back-alley silver-house, where anything is possible - any silver item - good price - better than cheap silver sold in market my friend. So after a full, thorough demonstration of his "Magic Pipes", we agreed to come back the next day and then set off around the corner, just inside the first gate of the fort to a nice Italian restaurant for a couple of impressively good pizzas before heading back to our shanty room for another shivering nights sleep...

Day three in paradise lost and we're up very early with no hot water and not in the best of spirits due to our continued disappointment about our lodgings but we drag ourselves out into the darkness of the pre-dawn fort due to my desire to get some photos of the sunrise over the town and distant desert from the top of the fort. Later on, after going back for a slump back in bed we head out again and after a nice chocolate croissant and a coffee at a place inside the fort we headed down to the bhang shop to get the Dr. to take us firstly to an ATM and then on to the silver place. The bike ride was perilous to say the least - all three of us crammed on the machine and holding on for dear life as he weaved in and out of the other traffic, the gormless locals, and the rowdy cows and their massive piles of dung through the narrow back alleys of the city in a confusion of lefts, rights and double-backs, at one point passing the depressing sight of a dead, forlorn little yellow puppy that looked asleep, but was not - and eventually, with all muscles tensed and a sigh of relief arrived at the silver-house. We were guided in and given the spiel about the quality of the silver and how the jewelry is made once more and then taken to a room upstairs, sat down and shown a load of rings that were not really what i was looking for. I picked out three rings that each contained elements of what I was after - one the correct shape, one the correct size and one containing the gem I wanted and drew a little picture for the man showing how I wanted the final product to look. His initial price of 1700 rupes - about a thousand more than i really wanted to pay - was just too much and I finally agreed to 1500 - again too much but worth it I thought due to it being specially made for me to my own design. The seedy looking man, who was struggling to look me in the eye demanded a 1000 deposit - I gave him 500 and left, being told to return in an hour or so. The Dr. took us back to the fort and we had a wander around the market for a while before returning to the bhang shop again to get a lift to pick the thing up. Upon our arrival back at the place I was handed a ring that did not particularly look like what I had described to the man but under the surrounding eyes of about six Indian men staring through my sweat riddled brow and into my reluctant soul I caved, and accepted the ring, handing over the other 1000 rupes with an uneasy hand and left. We then went and bought some hand made bed covers - mine a gift for purpose of my brother's wedding present and Emma's a a gift to herself that she would send home to the UK, ready for her return in some years - and went to a nice restaurant with a brilliant view from the top of the fort over the city and endless desert bellow for a brew. While sat here we got talking to the waiter who I showed my new ring, asking his opinion of it - he took it off my hand and ran down stairs saying "one minute". A few seconds later he darted back up and waved me down the cold stone stairs into the kitchen where his boss was sat at a grubby wooden table with a set of old-school metal scales with a five gram weight in one side and my ring in the other - the former far out weighing the later. When I told him what I'd payed he was shocked - apparently he was, in a former life, some sort of jewelry merchant and he knew his shit. I was devastated and overflowed inside with a rage that only this country can induce in a normally placid being such as myself when he told me it was worth no more than four or five hundred at most and that the good Dr. had more than likely received a healthy sum in commission for his aid in this blatant financial rape of a sadly over-trusting, gullible white man looking for a nice present to himself. I thanked him for his kind honesty and straight away set off back to the room to dump my things and empty my pockets before heading off alone, to spare Emma of the inevitable scene to come, pacing down through the sweltering fort while rolling my sleeves down and buttoning them up to cover up my tattoos and hence divert the shocked local attention I would be receiving while wandering those bewildered dusty paths beyond the market outside the apparent safety of the walls of the golden fort to find this hidden con-den and demand my money back. This unfortunately was not exactly what happened. I went in with the up most of calm and told them of my new found awareness of the atrocious quality of they ring they'd sold me at an exuberant price, taking me for naive idiotic tourist swine. They gave the the spiel once more and I stood my ground, vociferating my unhappiness to the four or five of them that had gathered in the small room in which we stood. After a long battle of words, the "uncle" - the owner of the con-shop it seemed - handed me a 500 rupe note and I pocketed it before he had chance to change his mind. I then said give me 200 more back and I'll be happy - which of course I actually wouldn't have been totally - but he refused, saying he'd sell me another, plain silver ring that was normally priced at 700 for a discount rate of 300. Obviously, I told him where to stick it and stuck to my further 200 rupe settlement fee. After what seemed like hours of banging my head against the cold, whitewashed inner stone wall of the hole, I gave up and stormed out, wishing them all a good nights sleep. No further than thirty paces up the road was I when the younger, stout, bury little one that originally sold me the ring pulled up behind me on his bike - "My uncle, he not happy - he know you not happy and that make him unhappy, he like customer be happy!" - Obviously the old Indian Karmatic guilt-trip had set in on the place and it's inhabitants on my departure and this young fool had come after me to try and settle up with the Gods - "Give me 200 more and I'll be happy" was my reply. "No - this not possible sir - you take this ring for 100, ok?" being his obstinate answer. "No, I don't want to give you any more money! If you give me the ring... then maybe I'll be happy" i told him. Upon hearing this he turned the table of Karma back on me, the sly devil, and welled up some tears in his eyes... "OK... take... take... you take...." - At this, my awareness of his skulduggery became instantly apparent to me and hence forth I started to feel bad. I therefore, in the name of Karma and the Harmony of the Gods of the land that had been my home for the last couple of long let beautiful months, took his original offer of 100 for the new, plain silver ring, shook his hand and left him - both of us and all the Gods happy. As it happened this new ring fit my finger perfectly, sliding on effortlessly and not wanting to come off without a strenuous battle. I took this as a good sign and left the new ring on, caring now, more about it than the original one that in the end I had wasted 1100 rupes on. A loss in my mind though that was more than worth it for what this new, simple ornament to my right hand stood for and represented with it's symbolist representation of this country and the hard work, determination and grit that it takes to travel it at times. A point that would be proved to us in the following three days.

I have no great desire to keep up the level of detail with the amount of zeal - which I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear - in describing the following three day, two night camel trek that we endured in the desert outside of Jaisalmer, coming as close to 15km from the border of Pakistan - as I have been in transcribing my memories of the days leading up to it. Needless to say, as you can interpret from my briskness in recalling it that it was not an altogether pleasant experience. The highlight, it is worth mentioning, was sleeping under the crystal clear stars and staring in amazement up at the occult celestial magnificence of the cloudless nigh time desert sky above - which I can not deny was beautiful - a view of space that stands second only to Tibet for myself and Africa for Emma. The rest of the trip - which we did alone, instead of in a group as we were promised would be the case - consisted of pain and discomfort in riding these insatiable beasts for hour upon torturous hour, and when not bouncing up and down on the things, trying to entertain our forlorn little guide. We made it back alive though and despite discussions of going our separate ways decided on our return to the fort to stick together further more and make our way to Jaipur the next day.

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